


There is something in the night

by smallestbrown



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6250798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallestbrown/pseuds/smallestbrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relatively short Bellarke fics based off a <a href="http://alwaysbellamyblake.tumblr.com/post/111909165950/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you">list of prompts</a> on tumblr. Trying to do all 50!</p><p>1- "Come over here and make me."<br/>2- "Have you lost your damn mind?"<br/>3- "Please, don't leave."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Come over here and make me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy isn't pulling any punches when he goes after another armband. And neither is Clarke.  
> (Mid Season 1)

It was Monty who burst through the dropship doors to get Clarke, while she was disinfecting a young girl’s knee. He keeled over, breathing hard, and held up a hand before coughing out: “Bellamy. Armbands.”

Clarke tossed him the gauze, asked “where”, and ran off, kicking dust and spitting flames.

She was yelling before she’d even reached the campfire. “Bellamy!”

He turned to face her with a scowl. A boy was bent over the fire, his left held arm twisted behind him. Murphy stood nearby, holding a pair of pliers. There were three armbands on the ground, and three delinquents rubbing their wrists in the front of the gathered few. Miller came to stand between Clarke and Bellamy, and she pushed against him.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Clarke demanded. Bellamy sneered.

“Whatever the hell we want,” he answered, and she could see his supporters grinning at the remark. In the few days since that eventful night, their excitement had barely been dampened, and she saw some of them start to chant in support.

“You think this is freedom?” she shouted. “It’s anarchy!” 

“There were rules, Princess. You want the meat; you take off the armband. Jacob here,” Bellamy said, inching the boy’s face closer to the flames, “thought they didn’t apply to him.”

Jacob whimpered, and Clarke struggled against Miller again. 

“Oh, so ‘Whatever the hell we want’ only applies unless they’re _your_ rules, right?” She pressed both hands against Miller’s chest and heaved him out of the way, leaving him stumbling into the crowd. “Break all the rules, sure, until you cross _King Bellamy_ , and _that’s_ where the line is drawn?”

Bellamy’s face grew hard, but his grip on Jacob’s arm didn’t loosen. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

He raised his chin at Murphy, and the other boy brought the pliers up to Jacob’s wrist.

“Listen to me,” threatened Clarke, head raised and hands clenched at her sides, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Actually I think I’m very well aware.”

“Bellamy, I swear, if you touch that armband you’ve killed us all.” She spoke slowly and harshly, and there was venom on her lips. “Just leave him. Alone.” 

“Yeah?” he leered, shaking Jacob as he glared at her. “Well why don’t you come over here and make me, Princess.”

There was a moment of stunned silence in the crowd, and all of a sudden Clarke was lunging towards him with full force. Bellamy’s eyes grew wide as she threw her entire body crashing against his, the sheer speed behind her knocking him back a few steps. He didn’t fall, instead stuck one leg back to steady himself and grabbed Clarke’s wrists, twisting them outwards. He looked at her and smirked. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were furiously blue with anger.

There was a moment’s pause, and Bellamy tightened his hold, squeezing hard on her bones. If she winced, she didn’t show it.

Bellamy looked briefly to Miller and Murphy. “Who knew the Princess had that in–”

Clarke’s head reeled back and she spat in his face. When his grip on her loosened slightly she stepped forward, bringing her foot behind his knee, and pulled. His leg went up and he crashed to the ground with Clarke still on him, her knees suddenly at his sides and her fists slamming into him. He brought his hands up to shield himself, and over the blood in his ears and the shouts of the hundred he barely heard her yelling.

“They’ll die up there, you bastard! You’re leaving them to die!”

Almost instantly, the others were with him, grabbing at Clarke who was reckless in her rage. On his left, Mbege reached for her arms and she swung at him. Murphy was already on his other side, pushing her off Bellamy. When she teetered slightly Bellamy grabbed her knee, pushed, and swung out from underneath her.

Clarke was on the ground now, too close too the fire, but there was fire in her eyes and anger and something else he couldn’t quite place. He stared as she grappled to get up, leaning on her palms and turning to rise; just in time to see Murphy slam the butt of a large branch against the back of her head. 

He watched as she tried to blink it back. Then Clarke collapsed, one arm bent beneath her.

Several of the delinquents cheered. Bellamy rose slowly and dusted himself off, wiping his face. There was blood on his hand when he checked. He worked his jaw, felt the bones move jaggedly beneath an oncoming bruise.

_“You’re leaving them to die!”_

He felt her words echo around him, though if anyone else had heard they made no sign. Murphy dropped his branch and looked to him. “What now, Bellamy?”

He glanced at her one last time, slumped on the ground, unconscious. Her hair sprawled out around her, some of it in the ashes at the edge of the fire pit. Bellamy paused, watching her.

Murphy took a step towards him. “I said what now –”

“Connor, Monroe,” Bellamy called, and they emerged from the crowd. “Take her to the dropship. Find Tix, and see if she can take a look at her.”

The two nodded, reluctantly, then caught Clarke’s arms and legs and hoisted her. When they were out of sight, Bellamy whirled around and found the pliers. 

He located Jacob with one look, and fearfully the boy stepped out of the crowd and stretched out his arm. The metal armband snapped and fell to the ground with a hiss. Jacob rubbed his wrist.

“Now,” said Bellamy, eyeing the crowd. “Is there anyone else?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I love action/fight scenes (and I'm trying to get better at writing longer stories.) Comment and kudos if you'd like to read more!


	2. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had always been reckless force before, unkempt strength, and Clarke was always the only thing that could bring him down.  
> (End of Season 1)

Before anyone could stop him, Bellamy was running to his tent, Clarke on his heels calling his name. 

“Bellamy! Bellamy, wait, please!”

He didn’t listen, didn’t hear, just tore through his room in a violent search. Bed sheets and books and knives were all thrown aside, and in anger he spun and upturned a table. In a crash everything shattered on the dirt floor, and he was left standing there, fuming: a boy caught in his own storm.

“Where is it?” he demanded, noticing for the first time Clarke standing at the fold of his tent. “Where’s my gun, Clarke!?”

She tried to keep her voice calm, though she had never seen him so upset. He had been reckless force before, unkempt strength, stirring smoke; now all Clarke saw was fury, bright and unstoppable. Her hands moved towards him tentatively, palms wide. “You need to calm down,” she said. 

Bellamy took two steps towards her. “Get out of my way.”

She stood in front of him, a wall for a storm, a house made of golden straw in the eye of a hurricane, but she felt the storm begin inside of herself as well.

“You can’t go out there right now, not like this.”

“Like hell I can, Clarke.” His fists were clenched and his chin pointed upwards, and he looked down at her like a god willing destruction. “Where is my _fucking_ gun!?” 

He yelled, his face so close to hers, too loud. She yelled back.

“Have you lost your damn _mind_ , Bellamy!?”

The volume of their voices bounced around them, suddenly the air is full, so full. His chest was heaving, his eyes furtive. Their heavy breaths, their clenched fists, were all that existed in the abrupt silence.

“You heard what Harper said, Clarke.” His voice was still strong, but his strength was all the more present in his eyes. He had been the earth, sturdy and grounded, but the minute that Harper and her team had come back into camp, panting, Clarke had watched him erupt. 

“Octavia is missing.”

“I know. We’ll find her, I promise.”

“Not unless I leave, right now.”

“Look, look,” she said, tapping her fingers against Bellamy’s chest, in some desperate attempt to reach him. She closed her eyes, trying to gather herself amid the whirlwind. “I know.” 

“Clarke, I need to go.” He was shaking his head, but something in his voice had softened, just barely, just for her. Something in the forest fire had shrunk. “She’s my sister.”

“Your responsibility, Bellamy, I know.” She flattened her palms against him, knowing she wasn’t holding him back, that this was simply him choosing to stay, for her. For now.

“But I can’t – Look, I can’t do this without you.” He closed his eyes as she continued, and Clarke was once again struck by the way the world seemed to exist on the edges and planes of his face. Everything was round and smooth, harsh and pointed; he was so much at once and she could never quite believe that he thought she understood him, how she thought she understood him. But somehow they’d grabbed on to each other here on the ground, grasping through waves of chaos and catching each other again and again as they fell to their deaths. Pulling each other back from Hell. 

Her eyes never left him. “You know that, Bell, I can’t do this without you. And if you go out there right now, alone, there’s no guarantee you’ll come back.”  
He heard the worry in her voice, worry she normally hid, and it surprised him.

In the small space of his tent, dimly lit and half-destroyed, something between them caught fire.

Bellamy raised his hands to her shoulders. Something was shaking: was it his hands, or her, or the ground beneath them or the whole world, collapsing in on them? Her rubbed her arms in one quick, jerky movement, aware that this was a line they had not crossed before. 

“Clarke, I –” he started, conscious that he knew she was right. She needed him, and for all that was left unsaid he needed her too. 

But she wasn’t right about everything.

“I swear I’ll come back, Clarke.”

“You don’t know that you will. Bell –”

“I know. But I have to.”

He looked at her once more, eyes blue and wide and pleading, and stepped past her through the tent flaps. 

When he found his gun and made it to the main gate, she was waiting for him. Spear in hand. 

How could one person be both the calm and the storm? How could she be violence and peace, and not see herself torn apart from the inside? She was, Bellamy knew, torn; he’d felt it in the way she’d held him, briefly, in the way she’d yelled and whispered for him to not be so reckless. She understood him - or so they thought, so they hoped - and at that moment he understood her.

They locked eyes once more, conscious once more of the Earth’s monumental shift. The storms didn’t rage around them, instead they caught them in their hands and set them free when they pleased.

When Bellamy nodded at her, they left together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School is not as demanding as I know it's gonna be so I am churning these out as best I can! And yes, these first two chapters aren't very "lovey-dovey-one-shot"-esque, that'll come along when the prompt calls for it, I think.


	3. "Please, don't leave."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something in the wind sent a chill down his spine, despite the sweat plastered to his skin. The day was golden, and his heart sank.  
> (Season 3 Finale)

_May we meet again._

The words were ringing in his ears as he turned away from her to look back at the camp. Monty threw him a look – had he tried to talk Clarke out of it as well? – and tugged his sweater tighter around him.

The walk from Mount Weather had been quiet. Not too quiet; he’d long since learned that a silent Clarke wasn’t always a bad thing – that she weighed her words and silences and pauses like they were rare and precious, as if there were lives at stake.

There had been lives at stake, and Bellamy realized that that was always going to be in the equation for them. Maybe Clarke had known it too.

Something in the wind sent a chill down his spine, despite the sweat plastered to his skin.

This was different.

The day was golden, and his heart sank.

Raven saw him from within the crowd and said some final words to one of the Arkers before walking to him. He couldn’t find it in him to match her smile.

“Good to be back?” she asked, eyes bright. She was limping, and he saw her wince slightly as she landed in front of him, but she was alive. They were all so alive, so grateful, that is was simultaneously killing him and the only thing that kept him standing.

 _May we meet again._ He sucked in a breath; his cheek stung where Clarke had kissed him.

“Good to know we finally did. As many of us as we could.”

Raven nodded solemnly. “Where’s Clarke?” She pursed her lips and looked around. “I figured she’d be with you.”

The answer left his lips before he could think.

“That’s what I thought too.” Bellamy immediately regretted it; it was too close to the truth, too close to what he could only admit silently to himself.

“What do you mean?” She blinked at him, brows furrowed.

He tried to shrug his shoulders but it came out too shakily. He clenched his jaw to stop himself but he shivered and suddenly every bone in his body was stiff.

“She needs some time off.”

“Don’t we all,” scoffed Raven. “I could sleep for _years_ at this point. Would have, on the way back, but Wick wouldn’t shut up for even a second.” Her brief smile faded and looked at Bellamy: saw the bags under his eyes, his scars, the weariness seeping out of every inch of skin.

His eyes focused on something over her shoulder – a young girl who looked far too similar to Charlotte. She turned and held out her arms to an older woman, who swept her up into the air. The wind blew through her hair and carried her laughter on the wind.

“Bellamy.” Raven pulled him back to the ground, eyes serious, taking him in. Her words came out like condemnation and salvation all at once:

“Go get her.”

He paused, and turned to look back out the camp’s gates. There was a small, grey shadow standing out among yellow grass. Not yet covered by trees, not yet too far gone.

Bellamy looked back to Raven. “I can’t,” he said, and feeling the weakness in his own words, he swallowed. “She needs this. I can’t take that away from her.”

Raven frowned and tilted her chin up. “Well, what do _you_ need then?”

And Bellamy couldn’t help but remember a night that felt like years ago, eons, when Clarke had landed next to him by a tree, both of them refusing to acknowledge Dax’s body just a few feet away. They’d sat beneath the stars and spoken of monsters and choices and life and death, refusing to meet her eyes as she’d told him she needed him. It had felt like a wish, a prayer; he’d been so sure he had needed to leave everyone, even Octavia, and Clarke, somehow, _Clarke_ had brought him back. Speaking almost as if into his heart, a silent uttering of the words “Please, don’t leave,” – and suddenly, he’d been hers.

He had stayed. And now, he was angry.

Bellamy felt his throat closing, his stomach tying itself in knots. Clarke was almost at the forest; she’d been so reckless as to leave without any supplies, but even from so far away he knew how heavy her footsteps were.

He barely managed to choke out the words.

“I need her.”

Raven pulled in a breath and she pushed back his bangs, stuck to his forehead with sweat. She gave him a weak smile, and he knew that she understood. There was a weight in her heart like there was in his, and he found himself weighing her silence the way he knew Clarke weighed hers; lives hanging in the balance, in a moment of action or inaction, of speech or sound. He didn’t know what words to use to reconcile that, so he swallowed, and took Raven’s hand in his. His words came out like an angry sob, like a desperate, furious revelation.

“I need her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as much as I love fluffy stories, this weird, kind of poetic, angsty stuff comes way more easily to me?? I'm trying over here, seriously.  
> AS for this chapter, as much as I wanted to write Bellamy telling Clarke not to leave, I felt that such an important part of their relationship was that he didn't ask that of her. He was mad she left, yeah, but he knew forcing her to stay wasn't what she needed. So, flashbacks! To pretty much my favorite episode. I've also written something on that scene [ here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5429795)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments, kudos and the like are appreciated, especially if you want to see more prompts filled even faster!


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